


Stranded, Gareth/Ronaldo, AU

by prompt_fills



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Crack, Fluff and Angst, Humor, M/M, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-06
Updated: 2015-12-06
Packaged: 2018-05-05 06:43:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5365256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prompt_fills/pseuds/prompt_fills
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for <span class="ljuser i-ljuser"></span><a href="http://footballkink2.livejournal.com/profile"><img class="i-ljuser-userhead"/></a><a class="i-ljuser-username" href="http://footballkink2.livejournal.com/"><b>footballkink2</b></a>, PP5, <a href="http://footballkink2.livejournal.com/10208.html?thread=5773280#t5773280%0A"> for a prompt asking for anything about Gareth and Ronaldo, cute or angsty.</a><br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	Stranded, Gareth/Ronaldo, AU

“Fuck the fucking car,” Gareth curses, slamming the hood of the rented car shut and kicking a random pebble across the empty road. Fucking summer and fucking fucked-up ideas.

He calls the roadside assistance because it’s not like he can tell what’s wrong with the fucking car.

“And what’s wrong with your car?” is the first thing the phone operator asks when he explains his problem. And ka-boom goes the rest of Gareth’ patience.

“I don’t have a clue,” he shouts.

The girl on the other end of line remains the professional she obviously is and uses that annoying my-patience-is-endless voice. “Of course, sir. We’ll be sending someone right away. Now, what’s your phone number?”

“Uh,” Gareth replies because his head is one huge empty space of anger.

The girl does not laugh and waits for him to remember and then asks for his location.

“Uh,” goes Gareth again.

“Can you describe your surroundings, sir?”

“There is fucking nothing,” Gareth snaps. “Just dust and clear blue sky as far as I can see. Oh wait, I think there is a dead tree on the horizon.”

“The kilometres on the roads are numbered, sir.”

“Yeah, but I doubt this is even a proper road. Turn right, turn left and fuck if I know where I am.” There is a silence on the other end of the line. “I think I passed a herd of donkeys like two miles ago,” he offers. The girl says that they’ll use his phone to trace the call and then assures him that someone will be on their way the moment they know where to send them. They only make him wait for two and half hours before the help arrives – and some help it is.

The guy scratches his balding head and pokes the insides of the car a few times with a wrench before diagnosing it with faulty something. “Gonna pop back in town and get a new one for you,” is all Gareth registers.

“Er, okay.”

“It’s gonna be fixed in no time and then you can be on your way.”

The car disappears in a cloud of dust and Gareth stomps down that now-you’re-fucked feeling. The guy is going to be back in a minute and then Gareth can go on his merry way. See if he’s ever going joyriding again, though.

The guy calls him after a while. He sounds apologetic as fuck as he explains that the shop is closed for the day and the owner popped out of existence or whatever, the point is that the guy isn’t coming back. The line is dead before Gareth manages to find his voice. Gareth dials the line again – but before the call gets through, his phone gives a cheerful beep and the battery goes comatose. What the fuck, Gareth did not notice it slowly dying in agony. Well, the truth is that he did not recharge before setting off to the trip. Shit.

He’s been there for good three hours and only four cars went past him. It’s slowly getting darker so the chances of seeing another car are getting lower and lower still, goddammit. Maybe he’ll have to spend the night here, in the fucking car. Just the glassy windows separating him and from the wilderness outside. Christ, Gareth hopes there aren’t snakes. He fucking hates those.

He nearly pisses himself he’s so glad to spot lights approaching from the distance. He gets out of the car and runs towards the lights, hands windmilling. An old rusty van stops in the middle of the road. Gareth’s hungry and thirsty and a little bit freaked out but he’s definitely not in the mood for the flirting the old-enough-to-be-your-grandpa guy pulls on him. Gareth backpedals as soon as he notices the sleaziness.

“Hop in. I’ll show you a proper joyriding,” the man leers, he fucking leers, and Gareth involuntarily takes another step backward.

“Nah, I’m fine, man,” he oh-so-casually waves his hand. “I rang up a friend, he’ll be here any minute now. I thought he was you.” The man frowns, obviously not buying it, still leaning over the front seat and holding the door open for Gareth.

“You’re adorable. C’mon, get in, you don’t want to spend the night here, trust me. Plus, it’s illegal.”

Murdering young strangers you find stranded on the road is also illegal, Gareth thinks frantically. “But I’m not spending the night here,” he objects, “seriously, my mate is picking me up. Thanks for the offer, though, ta.” He practically runs back to his rented car, locks himself inside and doesn’t let out his breath until the van unhurriedly disappears in the distance. It takes forever, the dude drives so slow, like he is giving Gareth a chance to reconsider his offer. Gareth shudders. Not a chance in hell.

Gareth tries to make himself comfortable in the front seat, drawing his knees up and leaning against the door. The sun starts to set, casting creepy shadows everywhere. He swears he can hear wolves howling in the distance. Oh God, he just wants out of here. No, not out of the safety of the car. Just out of this damned situation.

He is alternatively nodding off and blinking awake. It’s giving him a headache.

He nearly has a heart-attack when something cracks noisily in the car, probably the bloody engine cooling off. He whimpers and leans his head against his knees, hiding his face from the perturbing darkness all around him. The howling intensifies. He kinda wishes he had taken the creepy grandpa up on his offer, that’s how freaked out he’s getting. He keeps his eyes closed shut because he’s not chancing seeing any supernatural shit happening. If he doesn’t see it, he can pretend it’s not here.

He must fall into a doze because the next thing he knows he’s startling awake with a muffled cry upon a knock on the window.

A man is staring at him through the window, one eyebrow raised. His tall figure is lit by the headlights of a car he parked behind Gareth’s. Something in Gareth trusts him right away. Gareth is still gaping as the man mouths, “Are you okay?”

Gareth hastily stumbles out of the car, the man stepping aside, watching Gareth with a frown. “Oh thank God,” Gareth gasps, reassured by the concern in the other man’s eyes.

Gareth’s so wound-up by everything; now that he’s standing in the middle of the open road, he can say that yes, that is some serious howling going on and it is not as much in the distance as he thought. He squeezes his eyes shut, leaning back against the useless lump of metal that is his rented car. He’s close to crying like a little bitch.

“What are you doing here in the middle of night?” The man asks, his hand gripping Gareth’s shoulder firmly. Huh. Gareth opens his eyes to blink up at the man from up close. The grip is warm and reassuring.

Instead of shaking the hand off, Gareth lets his head fall down a bit. “The car broke down,” he mumbles.

He doesn’t object when the man places his other hand at the nape of Gareth’s neck, pulling until Gareth steps close into the embrace. Gareth hides his face in the man’s neck and concentrates on breathing. The man smells nice. Gareth feels safe.

He doesn’t remember passing out.

The smell of coffee penetrates Gareth’s dreams. “Kanah’v a’kap?” He asks, still half asleep.

There is a chuckle. “Hi. Sure, here.”

Gareth rubs his eyes. “Hhh,” he croaks. A cup of hot coffee is pressed into his hands and he groans in appreciation.

Gareth fuels on the caffeine, becoming more and more awake with each scalding sip.

The man is watching him, amused, eyes almost predatory.

“Hi,” Gareths starts, sheepish. “Thank you, you know, for yesterday.” He sits up and looks around, curious. The room is clean and cosy, and it has the same soothing effect as the man himself despite being nearly bare. It doesn’t look like the guy is here often.

“Couldn’t just leave you there, could I?”

Ah. Gareth finishes his coffee, holds out the mug for the man to take. There is a strangely intense moment when the man steps forward and takes the mug back. “Thank you so much for not letting me get eaten alive by the wolves,” Gareth nods solemnly, though his tone is joyful.

“The word’s around here they’re no ordinary wolves,” the man says, voice quieting.

“I don’t believe in werewolves,” Gareth objects, rolling his eyes. He’s heard the tales. Getting out of the city with your pals, turning, letting the wild side loose, eating little kids who don’t eat their vegetables.

A wry smile crosses the man’s features. “Just don’t let the rest of the pack hear you saying that.”

“What pack? Your pack?”

There is a brief pause. “No.”

“I don’t believe in werewolves,” Gareth says again, though he doesn’t sound so sure.

“Too bad,” the man drawls, voice the same soft tone that managed to calm Gareth yesterday.

“Oh?”

“Because you smell like a mate.”


End file.
